He came from the mountains to our little town And never spoke a word. But he played every day in a lovely way Little tunes I never heard. When he played his flute His eyes seemed to be like mirrors of times gone by. I don't know if I what I should not see But I looked right into his heart. I looked right into his heart.
I found out one evening only by chance Where he spent his lonely nights. There he slept the church on the marble floor And his flute lay by his side. As I woke him up and said ”Won't come to my house where it's nice and warm” He said ”Please let me be, for am not free And I don't wanna break your heart I don't wanna your heart”
When early one morning I came to the place Where he used to play his flute. He was gone but a song that will never die Seemed to linger on the sky. He's an Indio boy And his folks far away they are praying Indio boy home when you are a man.
He's an Indio Boy and he longs for the girl who is waiting Boy come home as soon as you can..